Don't look down
by StarryEyedDreamer6
Summary: Ignorance is bliss, but Spencer Hastings is anything but ignorant. Mild Spoby. Oneshot.


Don't look down

Summary: "Ignorance is bliss, but Spencer Hastings is anything but ignorant. Mild Spoby."

A/N: This is my first foray into the PLL fandom, but I rather like it, and I wrote this rather easily 'cause I relate to Spencer pretty well. Please please please give me some feedback on it!

x.

"Don't you want to go outside and play with all of the other little girls, Spencer?" Her second grade teacher, Ms. Ketch asks sweetly.

"No thank you." You reply, focusing on your vocab words in an effort to distract yourself from the sounds of laughter coming from outside. This had been your routine ever since _perfect_ Melissa won the Spelling Bee two weeks ago, and you have to get a 100 (maybe more if you can convince your teacher to give you extra credit) to stop your parents from gushing about it whenever they're home.

Exemplary. You study the word, looking it up and smiling at the definition.

Even at 7 years old, you have decided you want to be exemplary. And you aren't letting anything get in your way, especially something as trivial as recess.

xx.

When she's 10, you ask for a pet. A cute little dog, or a soft hamster, or maybe even a fluffy rabbit. You make sure Melissa isn't home, so she doesn't mess your Powerpoint up and mock you, and plan it out all in your head perfectly, already saving up money for food and toys and other essentials.

What you get is a firm "No."

You prepared a presentation and everything, about the cost and the responsibility and the amount of care and dedication needed.

You were a diplomat even in 5th grade.

But all you get is a brush-off and barely a glance at your (meticulously researched) presentation. Your dad smiles at you sadly, but then he gets a call (you're starting to wonder if it's really from work) and leaves hurriedly, without another glance in your direction.

You haven't witnessed much parent/child interaction, but you're pretty sure that family isn't supposed to be eating alone and barely speaking.

You brush it off, focusing on your Social Studies textbook. Your test's in two weeks, but it's never too early to start studying.

Even then you know that this isn't normal, isn't very healthy, behavior, but when you grow up with the Hastings, this is what you get.

_It's easy to focus on work when you need to distract yourself from things that really matter._

__xxx.

"When you take into account my scores and the Flynn effect, combined with real-life accomplishments, the gap in our IQs is virtually non-existent." You protest desperately to Hanna, mind racing to think of reasons to convince her differently. She should know that you hate being compared to flawless Mellissa Hastings, especially when you don't come out on top.

You already get enough of that from your parents.

You miss the sad glance Hanna sends you. She thought you'd learned being the smartest wasn't always a good thing.

xxxx.

"Sorry Ali, I can't today. I have to tutor Billy across the street in Math." You say apologetically, on the phone with Alison.

"You're always doing something school related, Spencer. Why don't you just take a break?" She asks, a bit annoyed.

"I need this on my applications for college." You cringe.

"That's like 4 years away! Live a little." Alison exclaims. Easy for her, you think.

"I am."

You hang up, heart sinking. One of the few times Alison asks you to do something with her, one on one, you have to decline. Stupid Billy, you think vengefully, before you remember that Melissa tutored too, and she got into the University of Pennsylvania with ease. Pushing thoughts of fun shopping trips and shared secrets out of your mind, you leave. Billy's waiting, and you can't wait to explain those 2 step equations to him! But really, you know you aren't fooling anybody. Especially not yourself.

xxxxx.

There's a girl in your 6th grade class who always gets 100s and A++'s and knows every answer to every question.

The only thing is, she's a braggart, and nobody likes her. You two are the smartest in the school, and although sometimes she gets that one point higher than you, you smirk. You can't get anywhere in life when people despise you.

Anyway, you already know exactly how amazing you are from all of the times your parents have chosen Melissa over you ( it's hard to say parents don't have favorites when both of them like p.e.r.f.e.c.t Melissa better) and how you've perfected the art of silent crying. (You had to teach yourself that when your mother came into the room one night, tired and cranky, and shouted at you to quiet down, not even bothering to try ask what's wrong.)

She's full of hope for the future, and right then you tell her what you know is a fact. Hope breeds eternal misery.

You love being the smartest person around, but sometimes you wish you weren't. After all, ignorance is bliss.

xxxxxx.

"Spencer, why did you get a B in AP Biology?" Your mom asks sharply. She's rarely home anymore, but she still finds time to nag at you. "Melissa never got B's, and look how she turned out." You almost growl, but resolve to study (you don't bother trying to tell her you spent more time studying than ever now) even harder. 'A' may have all of your secrets, but she can't have anything else. Including precious time that should be spent raising her GPA.

You go back to studying, and on your next test you get an A+. But you wish the pounding headache you have and the bags under your eyes would just go away.

xxxxxxx.

You're looking through the mail when you see it. Mail addressed to you… from the University of Pennsylvania.

Your heart thuds, speeding up with excitement. This is it, your ticket out of this dead-end town. Opening the letter, fingers fumbling, you search for the words that will redeem you.

They aren't there.

Your chin wobbles, but you keep your head high. You've never even considered not getting in. You're a Hastings, after all, and your last name should've been enough to guarantee you a spot. Tears threaten to leak, but you've had enough experience with despair to hold them back, even for just a little bit.

How could this be happening? You ask yourself. Your mind is foggy and your vision is blurry and you tear the paper up (rip, rip, rip) in the desperate hope that when you come back home, this will be a nightmare, nothing more. You embrace the welcoming arms of denial as Toby enters.

You mentally scan through your grades, your extracurriculars. There was that A- you got in History….

All you can think about is how upset your parents will be when they hear. Melissa Hastings will win again, without even trying.

Hastings bounce back like super balls, eh Spencer? You think. Not this time.

xxxxxxxx.

You blurt your secret (shh!) out to Mr. Fitz. Your English teacher. Aria's ex. One of A's victims. There are many words you could use for Ezra Fitz, but you never thought confidante would be one. Until now, when you're talking and talking and you feel like your life, the future you have envisioned ever since you could walk, is crumbling beneath your fingertips.

You break down, hoping that a professional could help fix you.

He tries, and together you manage to tape yourself together enough to make a (not-so) graceful exit. By the time your friends see you, you've wiped the tears from your eyes and all that's left are glossy glossy eyes.

But really? You're past caring about what others think of you. You've dealt with too much to give a shit about what some wanna-be who has never experienced true grief thinks about you.

At least, that's what you like to think. But you're a fucking hypocrite because you aren't telling your friends and family your little secret because you're ashamed. It seems like such a trivial thing sometimes, but, even while A is terrorizing you, you always thought you could depend on your future, getting into the University of Pennsylvania and getting a master's degree in law. (But that's your mom's dream, not yours.)

As you work frantically on your essay for another college application, you pour your heart into it, tears falling down your cheeks occasionally. This could make or break your future, you think desperately, fixing and fixing it until you're tired and cranky and all you want to do is sleep. And so you do, and you wonder when you became so weak.

(Before you would've pushed yourself anyway.)

xxxxxxxxx.

Later, when the sky is dark and the stars are out, you cry, sob hysterically, into Toby's strong arms. You don't tell him why, and he doesn't ask any questions, but in the safety of his arms, you realize something you, _the smart one_, should've known.

Sometimes you don't have to be perfect.

_fin._


End file.
